


make her heart your heart

by ODed_on_jingle_jangle



Series: while your colors bleed [1]
Category: Dare Me (TV 2019), Dare Me - Megan Abbott
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Canonical Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Introspection, Statutory Rape, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22350988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ODed_on_jingle_jangle/pseuds/ODed_on_jingle_jangle
Summary: Coach’s lips only skim over Addy’s, a brief butterfly brush that’s over in the blink of an eye. Addy almost thinks she imagined it but when Coach sits up, she winks down at her. Sarge Will takes another sip of his beer, none the wiser.Addy laughs.Addy tips her head back until she can feel the pine needles poking into her scalp and laughs like a loon at Sarge Will’s oblivious stupidity, at Coach’s blasé bad bitch attitude, at her own foolish desire to spring up right now and kiss Coach back so hard it makes her head spin.
Relationships: Addy Hanlon/Colette French
Series: while your colors bleed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617898
Comments: 19
Kudos: 135





	make her heart your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Merging the book and TV canons for this one. I like how in the series we're treated to perspectives beyond Addy's and that supporting characters are given more depth. Also, um, absolutely love Herizen as Addy?! Have been a big fan of her since The Get Down and I actually got the title from her song, Paradise. 
> 
> Anyway, spoilers ahead! TV only watchers, do not read if you don't want spoilers past s1e4. This fic spoils who that puddle of blood belongs to. Do not read if you want that to be a surprise...unless they end up changing that in the show, but probably not, because that's a pretty big deal. I don't think they'd change something that important. 
> 
> I should also mention that in no way do I actually ship Colette/Addy. I am fascinated by the dynamic between them and sought to explore that in fic with a romantic angle, but it's not an appropriate relationship in any form.

Coach holds her up like Atlas holds the Earth as Addy pumps her fists to the sky and gazes through the expanse of trees. Coach’s touch is firm, her grip absolute. She is Addy’s steady pillar of strength. In this moment, Addy believes that Coach will never let her fall. 

Sarge Will whistles from the picnic blanket, impressed. 

When Coach does bring her down, she does so without missing a beat, Addy landing safe and sound. 

“Perfect,” Coach praises, pearl white grin stretching from ear to ear. 

The compliment makes her insides melt as sweetly as fondue and Addy can’t stop herself from grinning back. Sage Will gives a couple claps and then they shift gears, practicing tumblers. 

Practicing tumblers on the grass becomes tussling on the grass, playfully pushing and shoving at each other. Tugging at each other’s clothes. The next thing Addy knows, she is underneath Coach and Coach is above her, eyes twinkling, silken laughs bubbling up her throat. 

One hand cups Addy’s shoulder, her legs straddle Addy’s waist and her other hand just hovers in the air like she’s not sure where to put it. Blonde waves fall forward, curtaining Coach’s face from the world, like the giddy smile on her lips belongs to Addy and Addy alone. Addy reaches up and takes her hovering hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

Coach bows forward as she deftly slides her fingers between Addy’s, ends of her hair tickling Addy’s cheeks and then her shoulder blades as her face comes closer and closer, mouth a mere breath away from Addy’s own. 

Coach’s lips only skim over Addy’s, a brief butterfly brush that’s over in the blink of an eye. Addy almost thinks she imagined it (it wouldn’t be the first time) but when Coach sits up, she winks down at her, mirth glittering beneath her long lashes. Sarge Will takes another sip of his beer, content on the blanket, and none the wiser. 

And Addy— Addy laughs. 

She tips her head back until she can feel the pine needles poking into her scalp and laughs like a loon at Sarge Will’s oblivious stupidity, at Coach’s blasé bad bitch attitude, at her own foolish desire to spring up right now and kiss Coach back so hard it makes her head spin. 

* * *

Addy stays after the rest of the girls have gone home, helping Coach clean up. Trying to, anyway. She is mostly drunk and a little bit high and decidedly clumsy. She hasn’t eaten much today, a protein bar with a glass of juice in the morning, sparkling water for lunch, her dinner a simple garden salad. Without much in her stomach the alcohol hit her hard, and that was even before the cartwheels and herkies and handsprings. 

“You should stay the night,” Coach tells her, eyes glossy and voice as effervescent as the champagne she’d filled their glasses with. 

Addy crawls around some more on the carpet, rather feeling like little Caitlin. She thinks she got on the floor to begin with for her sake, to make sure there weren’t any stray bottle caps or discarded cans that Caitlin may discover. Things that could cut her squishy toddler feet or get carelessly popped into her curious toddler mouth. 

“What about Mr. Coach?” she asks. 

“He won’t be here tonight,” Coach says, winding around the couch and extending a hand to Addy. “He’s visiting his parents.” 

Addy takes her outstretched hand, feels her lips unfurl in a lopsided smile as Coach pulls her to her feet. “Oh.” 

“What’s that ‘oh?’” Coach asks, touch of teasing in her voice. 

“Well if Mr. Coach isn’t coming home, then the party doesn’t have to end.” Addy threads her fingers through Coach’s instead of letting go, idly swinging their hands together. 

“I think it’s already over, Addy,” Coach hums lightly. “Everyone else went home.” 

“Party of two,” Addy says, unsure if it’s the liquor that’s making her this bold or the freedom from Beth, maybe both. 

It’s weird with Beth, sometimes. Sometimes she makes Addy feel stronger, pushes Addy to be stronger like their confidence is a contest. But sometimes— sometimes it’s the opposite and Beth drains the strength out of her like slow-acting poison. Sometimes being Beth’s lieutenant isn’t a title of status but a code for invisible shackles that as of late, Addy is tired of dragging around. 

The shackles have been heavier since Coach came to town and Beth got jealous, or before that even, really, since last summer— but it is not the time nor place to be thinking of last summer. 

Addy doesn’t want to think about last summer, right now Addy doesn’t want to think about Beth at all. 

“Well, there was one more song I wanted to dance to,” Coach says, glancing coyly to their swinging hands. 

“Play that funky music, white girl.” 

Coach huffs a laugh, letting her fingers slide through Addy’s as she relaxes her hold. 

“You are too young to reference that song.” 

“Not the cover,” Addy insists. 

_I’m not that much younger than you,_ she thinks as she watches Coach scroll through her phone. _I’m not too young to make you mine._

“Aha.” Coach flashes her a smile over the screen and plugs her phone back into the speakers. 

_Am I?_ she wonders nebulously as Coach pads back across the carpet, already moving her body to the beat. 

It’s a song Addy thinks she’s heard before, but can’t quote identify by name. It’s some surreal dream pop with two singers, a man and a woman. Vaguely romantic, an etherial mix, strong bass, haunting sonic texture. 

She rocks her hips and gets into it, watching Coach mouth the words as she twirls toward her. Her hands float above her head and Addy reaches for them, takes them both this time. When they move, they move together, bouncing to the beat.

Eventually their hands come down and they’re touching each other’s shoulders, each other’s waists, the song shifts into the next one that must be lined up on the auto-play and it’s a slower one, softer, sad even. Addy doesn’t know this band either, but the vocalist sings like a broken angel. 

Coach tilts her head and gazes at her with an unreadable look, no longer mouthing lyrics, but her lips parted in mild awe. 

“What?” 

“You’re amazing, Addy,” she murmurs. “You know that, right?” 

Addy’s heart fills to the brim and beyond and all she can do is keep swaying, roll her thumb in small, nervous circles above the jut of Coach’s hip. 

“You’re not going to get stuck in Sutton Grove,” she declares, lifting her neat, stern chin. “You’re going to go places neither of us can even imagine.” 

“You really think so?” Addy whispers through her grin, hope surging in her chest. 

“Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean. You are so much different from the others, you know what you’re really cheering for.” 

It’s the kind of thing Addy loves to hear, the kind of thing she always wanted to hear from the past coaches who failed her, from her mother who only sees her goals as parroting the dreams of her father. It’s like a promise that Addy is worth something, worth so much more than this town could ever give her, a promise that she is seen for what she is. 

Riding on the buzz of the praise, she releases her breath and smashes her mouth against Coach’s. Coach kisses her back, kisses her hard and rolls her tongue over Addy’s. She mouths hotly over Addy’s lips and Addy grips her hips tighter, like the kiss might end if she dares to let go. Coach tastes like mint julep and vanilla chapstick that tingles as it smears over Addy’s lips. 

Coach grips her shoulders as she kisses her sloppy, tangling their tongues, sucking the breath right from Addy’s lungs. Her teeth catch on Addy’s bottom lip, and Addy soars under the pressure of the gentle bite, her entire body throbbing with heat and want. 

But Coach lets her go and steps back. 

“Why’d you stop?” 

“Addy…” 

“What, is it Sarge Will?” Addy presses. “C’mon Coach, you kissed me right in front of him.” 

“Addy,” Coach repeats, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of her neck. “That was…it was probably a mistake…” 

“No,” Addy argues. “It wasn’t— this isn’t a mistake, I like you.” 

Coach chews her lip uncertainly. “You know I care about Will.” 

“I never said you didn’t, but you can’t pretend there’s nothing happening here,” Addy says with conviction, heart pounding like a jackhammer because she wants this, she wants her so bad it hurts. 

“Maybe if things were different,” Coach sighs, crossing her arms as she looks Addy in the eyes. “We just shouldn’t go there, Addy. You’re drunk, okay? It’s time to go to bed.” 

Addy swallows heavily, deflating. The rejection hurts more than she wants to let on. She holds herself high, planting her hands on her hips. 

“You shouldn’t kiss me and then get mad at me for it, like I’m crazy for thinking you want this.” 

“I’m not mad and you’re not crazy…but I can’t do this with you right now,” she says warily.

“You’re the one who told me to make things mine,” Addy reminds her sharply. “If I want something, I have to make it mine, right?” 

Addy’s mom would roll her eyes, tell her something like, ‘you’re a teenager, you only think you know what you want.’ But Coach is different, Coach takes her seriously. She knows Addy means it. 

She blinks at Addy slowly, arms unfolding. Addy takes a step toward her and holds her face in her hands. She doesn’t resist when Addy kisses her. Makes this wet, breathy sound, lets Addy plunge her tongue past her teeth. 

They tear each other’s clothes off on the way to the bedroom and Coach eagerly shoves all those fancy pillows off the bed. She pins Addy down on the duvet like an animal, eyes gleaming with hunger. No one would ever have believed she almost refused. Somehow, Addy isn't sure if she really believes it either. If the refusal was more of a ruse, a test, and maybe it doesn't matter anyway as Coach kisses her again.

Her kisses go lower than the face. She peppers them along the slope of Addy’s collarbone, puckers her lips over Addy’s breasts and sucks until they’re mottled with dark, bruise like marks that only Addy will know didn’t come from practice. The dim light turns her blonde wavelets gold, almost helical as she works her way lower and lower, Addy nearly writhing under her. 

When she gets below the belt, it’s nothing like it was with Beth. With Beth, the shorts never came all the way off and despite her lifelong untouchable, trademark Beth bravado, her hands had been shaking. But Addy is completely naked and so is Coach, and Coach knows exactly what she’s doing. Coach’s hands don’t shake a bit.

She pumps Addy full of pleasure until Addy’s clutching the satin in a death grip, toes curled, estacitic scream curbed at the very edge of her teeth. 

* * *

It’s like that for awhile, Addy shares Coach with Matt French and Sarge Will, and Coach shares her with no one. 

“You want to fuck her,” Beth had taunted mere hours after being acquainted with their new coach, somehow already knowing what Addy wanted before she even realized she wanted it. That was another way things were weird with Beth. Sometimes Addy swore Beth knew her better than she knew herself, like she could see right through Addy and deep inside Addy at the same time. 

Addy doesn’t tell Beth about the shift in her relationship with Coach, but she thinks that somehow, Beth knows anyway. Beth always seems to know things like this. Maybe it’s fine. Beth may despise Coach but she wouldn’t throw Addy into the fire. Or, at least, Addy hopes she wouldn’t. Things changed last summer and—

And last summer is besides the point, there’s no reason to think about that. Even if Beth suspects, she has no proof. Coach is careful, Addy is careful. 

When they spend time together, it is under the guise of practice and it’s not a lie, really. They do practice. They just do other things after practice. 

Sometimes they go to woods without Will in tow and dance together, pine needles and dead leaves crunching under their shoes. Sometimes Addy lets Coach in the back at Dairy Cream and gives her free soft serve, and kisses the sticky sweetness off her lips where no one can see. Sometimes Coach spreads her legs open while Matt French snoozes just a room away, snoring like a bear in hibernation as she uses her mouth to turn Addy into a painfully euphoric, quaking mess.

* * *

  
They’re in the locker room after hours and no one is going to come in but if they were, at first glance, they would probably just assume Coach and Addy were sitting together on the bench, Coach with her back to Addy. They probably wouldn’t realize that Addy’s breasts are flush to Coach’s shoulder blades, her lips ghosting over the nape of Coach’s neck, one hand hidden in the foam cup of Coach’s bra and thumb tentatively rolling over her nipple. 

“Like this, Addy,” Coach murmurs, guiding Addy’s other hand beneath the thin, lacy material of her pale blue panties. 

Addy isn’t as clueless as Jordy Jones, but her fingers have never been inside anyone but herself, not for real. The moment between her and Beth— well, that’s all it was, one messy moment where her haphazard heart nearly exploded and her fingertips played over the damp cotton fabric that separated skin from skin without ever venturing past it or pulling it off. 

She thought she was ready for this but suddenly finds herself just a tad out of depth, second thoughts surfacing in her mind. 

This is illegal. If they got found out somehow, Coach could lose her job or even worse. Her mother is a police officer, her mother would abhor what is happening right here, right now, Coach’s slim fingers slid over Addy’s and thin, fine curls of pubic hair tickling her palm. 

Coach spreads two of her fingers around her clit and Addy exhales a quiet gasp as she begins to rub them up and down, up and down. Addy’s mind spirals, her doubts and her desires silently warring in her head. Coach presses harder, pushes her hand lower. 

“Just like this, Addy,” she encourages, voice like velvet. 

Addy thinks of seeing Coach and Sarge together, the fleshy smell that infused her nostrils, the gorgeous column of Coach’s throat as her head tipped back with her lips parted in pleasure. And with this memory in mind, a familiar feeling flares in Addy’s chest. Competition. 

Sarge Will isn’t the only one who can bring Coach release. Addy can do it too, Addy can do it better. 

She’s different. She’s special to Coach in a way that no one else is. 

She pushes another kiss to the nape of Coach’s neck and intently follows her wordless instructions, follows the movement of her hand like she’d follow drills in the gym. She slides two fingertips past her slick entrance, calloused heel of her palm putting pressure on the clit as Coach rocks into her hand.

Coach reaches climax with a breathless, sound of bliss. 

Addy relishes in it, feeling triumphant, worries temporarily shoved out of her skull. She takes that sound and tucks it close to her heart, a silent trophy no one else will ever see. 

“You’re so good, Addy,” Coach pants as she leans back into her, boneless. “You’re so good.” 

* * *

“You’re spending a lot of time with Beth lately,” her mother notes, still in uniform, bending to get a can of Arnold Palmer from the fridge. 

Addy glances up from the textbook she couldn’t really concentrate on, scraping her thumbnail down the thick cut of the pages. 

“Does this mean you’re over that fight you had last summer?” 

“It was a barely a fight,” Addy says. “Besides, you don’t like Beth.” 

“Beth is hardly charming,” her mother admits as she straightens up and pops the metal tab. “But you two have been thick as thieves since third grade. I wouldn’t want to see that fall apart.” 

Addy’s phone buzzes and she flips it over to see a text from Coach. 

“Um, speaking of Beth, she just invited me over, so I’m gonna head out.” Addy stands up and pushes her chair in. 

“Well, alright. But don’t be out too late. I want you to keep on top of that homework,” she says pointedly, brows arched. “You can’t depend on that cheerleading scholarship you’re dead set on getting.” 

Addy mentally rolls her eyes, but nods her head. “Yeah, I know.” 

* * *

They hang out at Lanvers Park again, little Caitlin in daycare and Beth blowing up Addy’s phone with bored texts from the family therapy office that Addy ignores as she trails behind Coach and Sarge Will. 

Will is the one holding Coach’s hand and for the first time, Addy feels a twinge of jealousy. She doesn’t hate Will. She actually likes him, really. In the beginning, she encouraged Coach to go after him because she thought what they had was love, true love. But the things she shares with Coach in the dark? 

That has to be what real love is. Coach can bring things out of Addy nobody else can, on the field and in between the sheets. And Coach can be herself with Addy in a way she can't be with anyone else. Sarge Will and Coach have a past together, but that’s just what it is— a past. There’s no future there. 

_Well, what sort of future do you have with her?_ a small voice asks inside her head. 

And instead of answering it, Addy snuffs it out. She comforts herself with the thought that neither Beth nor Will is Coach’s favorite. 

Addy is.

* * *

The next time Addy sees Sarge Will, his mouth is a crimson massacre. She treads on his scattered teeth and follows the empty stare of his dead eyes up to that tottery ceiling fan, and chokes on the reek of his blood and the bleach. 

* * *

“Colette?” Addy asks, curled under her arm on the sheets. 

She doesn’t have the faintest idea where Matt French is, although somehow she's sure Colette told her at one point. 

“Yeah?” 

Addy traces her fingertips over the skinny strap of the hamsa bracelet on Colette’s wrist and swallows past the lump in her throat.

“Did Sarge know about us?” 

“No,” Coach promises, squeezing Addy tighter. 

“Are you sure?” Addy asks, anxiety wringing her stomach. “Because if he did, what if it was like, the final straw or something?” 

“Oh, Addy, no,” Coach says softly, her bottom lip wobbling. “Will had such a hard life. This was inevitable. I couldn’t save him from it, no one could.” 

Addy thinks of Sarge Will on the anniversary of his wife’s death, how he’d been so drunk and despondent, told her that weird story that washed over her like somebody else’s bad dream. Addy thinks of Sarge and Coach cuddling close on the picnic blanket. Addy thinks of Coach’s love bites littering the insides of her thighs. 

“Addy, do you know why I called you that night?” Coach asks. 

“I’m your…friend.” 

Coach patiently bobs her head. "Of course, but also because you’re smart. I know I can trust you. So you have to know that it goes both ways. You need to trust me too and believe me when I tell you these things. I told you I don’t say anything I don’t mean.” 

Addy tries to turn in her arms to face her, but Coach’s grip tightens and what began as an embrace now feels more like a cage. 

“I’m telling you that Will didn’t know anything about us. Nothing beyond what anybody else does. That I’m your coach and you are my favorite student. My star pupil. That’s all he knew, Addy, trust me.” 

“Okay,” Addy agrees, but the lump still won’t leave her throat and Coach’s cage grip becomes impossibly tighter, arms like titanium. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hmm...this didn't turn out as well as I'd like, but eh, it's my first time writing for this fandom. And trying to blend the two canons is interesting, because there are definitely some distinctive differences here. Hmm. 
> 
> Will probs right more for this fandom in the future though, might be more satisfied with my next crack at it.


End file.
